


like a straight ten on the richter scale

by lipgallagher



Series: (shoot the lights out, hide) till its bright out [4]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Character Typical Violence/Misogyny/Racism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Mild Suicidal Ideation, Recreational Drug Use, Sleepwalking, Unreliable Narrator, Warning: Billy Hargrove
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-08 14:31:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14107407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipgallagher/pseuds/lipgallagher
Summary: "There's no monsters here."But that's nottrue, becauseBillyis a monster, and.Steve's one, too."Are yousure?"And Billycan'tbe sure, because that's just not true, it's not, it'snot, therearemonsters, they'reeverywhere, there's one touching Steveright now, and it nods, it smiles, it says, "Yeah, King Steve. I'm sure."ALTERNATIVELY: a couple of days in the life of steve harrington, christmas break 1984 edition.





	like a straight ten on the richter scale

**Author's Note:**

> 1 if youve been reading this series thinking Well This Is Okay But Ideally Dustin Would Be In It More, then hey, this is the part you have been Waiting for.
> 
> 2 i still maintain that steve harrington wouldve fucking loved springsteens 1984 album _born in the usa_. the first single off thats called _dancing in the dark_ and it is a Real steve harrington anthem, or it is for the steve of this verse at the very least, so if you havent heard it, you should have a quick listen! keep in mind that i still dont like springsteen! i really dont! but this song is a guaranteed good time. 
> 
> 3a sorry this update took so long. march has been a rather wild time.  
> 3b usual warnings apply. as ever, you have my most heartfelt apologies, in advance.

It's really early on Friday morning, and Steve's still mostly passed out.

He'd love to be _actually_ passed out, but.

There's someone in his house.

And that would be okay if he knew who it was, and what the fuck they're doing, but he _doesn't_.

His parents aren't supposed to be home until January fifth, and none of their neighbors have spare keys, or anything, and.

Maybe Steve's just being paranoid.

Maybe there's no one in the house. 

After all, he's pretty sure he just had the _single_ most terrifying dream of his entire fucking life, and there's a good chance that it's still messing with his head. 

Usually, nightmares about Billy start at school, or at the Byers', and,  _twice_ , now, they've started in the Upside Down, but this one was in Steve's house, in his  _bedroom_ , in his fucking  _bed_ , and that's.

Too close for comfort. 

But it  _was_ just a dream.

Steve's just being paranoid. 

He should go back to sleep. 

Someone knocks on his door, then, _not_ the front door, but his fucking  _bedroom door_ , and Steve yelps, sits straight up in bed, feels  _terrified_ , which is embarrassing, because the door opens, and Dustin sticks his dumb tiny head into Steve's room, saying, " _See_ , Steve, I  _told_ you you were possessed, and  _you_ didn't  _believe_ me! I bet you feel dumb  _now_ , don't you?" 

" _Dustin_?! What the  _fuck_!" 

"Oh, yeah, hi." Dustin opens the door up a little bit more, walks into Steve's room, starts setting out a sleeping bag on the floor. "So, hey, Steve,  _I_  need to stay here today, and  _you_ need to not ask me any questions about it." 

Steve sighs, "Um, no, yeah, I'm.  _No_ , I am just  _not_ going to do that." 

Dustin pauses in unzipping his sleeping bag, tugs on his hat, scowls up at Steve. " _Steve_ , when do I  _ever_  ask you for  _anything_?"

"Are you fucking  _kidding_ me, asshole?! You ask me for something  _every single goddamn time I—_ "

" _Okay_!" Dustin interrupts, loudly. "Fine,  _maybe_ I ask for things, but _—_ "

"Did you just  _break into my house_?!"

"The door was already open?" 

"Are you _seriously_ lying right to my _face_?!" 

" _No_!"

He might  _not_ be lying. 

Steve's not great at home security, just generally, but.

Especially not lately. 

Whatever.

It's three in the morning. 

"Does your mom know you're here?" 

"Um, probably not  _yet_ , but I left a note?" 

"Yeah. _Sure_. And that made sense to you because...?" 

Dustin looks, for a second, like he's going to answer that question with something bordering on extreme honesty, and then he clearly decides _not_ to do that, because he makes an annoyed face, shakes his head, pulls something out of his backpack to hand to Steve. 

Steve demands, flatly, "What the hell is this."

"Klondike bars."

" _Yeah_ , Dustin, I can  _see_ that."

"Really?" Dustin gives him a  _why are you so dumb_  kind of smile. "Then why did you  _ask_ me?" 

Steve is gonna hit this kid in the _face_.

He reaches out to hand the ice cream back over to Dustin. "Go put those in the freezer." 

"So, you're letting me stay?" 

"Yeah, fine,  _Jesus_." Dustin's nearly at the door, again, when Steve calls, " _Wait_!" 

Dustin looks  _extremely_ nervous when he turns back around, so Steve holds back on interrogating him, because, he's got some compassion in him, a _little_ , and, also, _shit_ , he's too fucking  _tired_ , but. 

"Gimme one,  _then_ put the rest in the freezer."

Dustin yawns, "Okay," carefully works one ice cream bar out of the pack, then stops, blinks at Steve curiously. "Um. Why the hell do you have _blood_ on your face?"

"I don't."

"You _do_ , I. Are you! Steve!  _Why_ would I make that _up_?!" 

"I  _genuinely_ have  _no_ fucking clue." 

"Well, there's _blood_ on your _mouth_ , okay?!" Dustin steps just close enough to place the Klondike at the edge of Steve's bed, then takes two quick steps back. "Maybe I jumped to demon too soon. Have you considered, lately, that you _might_ be a vampire?" 

Steve sneers, "I haven't,  _no_ , mostly just 'cause vampires aren't  _real_." 

Very seriously, Dustin asks him, "Can you  _prove_  that?" 

 

 

 

 

Steve eats his ice cream, lets Dustin talk to him about Dungeons and Dragons for exactly nineteen minutes before Dustin falls asleep, and then.

It's still three in the morning.

And Steve's still awake. 

He gets out of bed, steps over Dustin, slips into his bathroom. 

There's not a _lot_ of blood on his face, but.

Yeah.

Yeah, there is _some_. 

He tasted it when he was eating his ice cream, before, but it mostly faded away to nothing after the first few bites, but.

That doesn't change the fact that there's blood at the corners of Steve's mouth, a little bit on his chin, and he doesn't know where the _fuck_ it came from.

There aren't any cuts on his face, or his hands, or anywhere, as far as he can tell, so.

It doesn't make _sense_. 

He knows that he saw Billy yesterday, and Steve wouldn't be surprised if Billy hit him, or something, and Steve just doesn't remember, he really wouldn't, but.

He doesn't have any cuts, or bruises, and nothing feels sore.

He has a feeling, though, a _there's something happening here_ feeling, a _you need to talk to somebody about this_ feeling, a _this isn't just going to go away_ feeling.

If this was happening a few months ago, he would call Nancy.

Well, he _wouldn't_ , because it's three in the fucking morning, but.

He would get up, put on his shoes, drive to Nancy's house.

She'd let him in through the window, and they'd mess around, a little, maybe, but they'd probably just kiss and go to sleep. 

He could _sleep_ , when he was with Nancy. 

Even when Steve felt _horrible_ , even when everything seemed like it was too fucking much, he could sleep, back then, and he just. 

Fuck, he just _can't_ do that, anymore. 

Steve turns off the light, opens the door slowly, because it creaks, sometimes, and he doesn't want to wake Dustin up, except Dustin's not asleep, anymore, apparently, because as soon as Steve takes a few steps back into his room, he's greeted with the words, "You _know_ you're wearing all your clothes, right?" 

"What?" 

"It's the _middle of the night_ , Steve." Is Dustin for fucking _real_? Steve _knows_ it's the middle of the night, but _he's_ not the one who's currently camped out on somebody else's bedroom floor, wearing PJs and a fucking _baseball cap_ , like that's fucking _normal_ , Jesus _Christ_. Steve doesn't think he's ever been _so_ annoyed over being judged by _anybody_ , before. This is _actually offensive_. "And you're wearing _jeans_ to _sleep_." 

Steve kneels down next to Dustin, yanks the hat off his head, growls, " _Okay_ , motherfucker, repeat after me: it is _mean_ to talk shit about other people's _clothes_." 

Dustin's eyes are huge and dark and annoyed when he sighs, "It's _mean_ to talk shit about people's clothes, _fine_ , but _Steve—_ "

"No! That's it, that's the whole lesson. Now go to sleep." 

"But _—_ "

"Go to _sleep_ , or I'm driving you home _right_ _now_." 

Dustin's quiet for a long time, long enough that Steve opens up his closet, changes his shirt, thinks about putting on different pants, except his room is dark, but it's not that dark, and can he _really_ take off his pants in front of Dustin? Even if it's just for a second, that's. It'd be _weird_ , right? He hears, in his head, _this whole situation, Harrington, I don't know, it's giving me the heebie jeebies_ , and shuts his closet, just like that, _that_ fast, because. 

_No_.

He doesn't need that shit right now.

He doesn't need Billy fucking Hargrove, right now. 

Dustin yawns, "I can _tell_ that's an empty threat, but okay. Good night, Steve." 

"I don't _make_ empty threats," Steve lies, gets back in bed, stares up at the ceiling. He wants more ice cream. He needs to find out why Dustin's here. He needs to figure out why there was blood in his mouth. _Somebody else's_ blood. "Good night."

 

 

 

 

"Come in. _Dustin_? Dustin, come _in_! Jesus, _anybody_?! Are you people _all_ asleep?! _God_ , why the hell do I have to do _everything by_ _myself_?!" 

Steve blinks, rolls over in bed, checks the time.

It's nine-thirty, the light in the bathroom is on, the shower's running, and.

Steve uses his feet to pull Dustin's backpack onto his bed, fishes around in it until he can pull out Dustin's radio, then hisses, "Not to be morbid, okay, but somebody better be fucking _dying_." 

And that was almost _definitely_ Mike Wheeler, bitching about doing everything himfuckingself, even though Steve's pretty sure most of the shit Mike does is usually accomplished by semi-extravagant teamwork that usually features his best friend holding a slingshot, or his girlfriend using her mind control powers, but the kid _clearly_ feels like he's putting in serious effort, for _whatever_ fucking reason, but now the radio's got about a billion different voices coming out of it, like maybe all the kids were sitting around listening to Mike lose his mind, and they were just ignoring him, which is. 

_Definitely_ understandable. 

If Steve owned one of these radios, he would probably do that, too.

" _Steve_?"

"Steve!" 

" _Steve_ , oh my _God—_ "

"Hi, Steve!"

Steve's never hated the sound of his own name _this_ much.

He cuts in, "Yeah, _hi_ , guys. So, _what's_ going on?" 

"Dustin's _missing_! But _—_ "

"Are you on _Dustin's_ _radio_?!"

"We were _—_ "

"Steve, have you seen _—_ "

"Dustin's at my house, so fucking  _relax_. Is his mom freaking out, or is it just you guys?"

"It's just us," Mike admits, sounding sullen and annoyed and fucking  _bored_ with Steve, even though _Mike's_ the one who fucking _initiated_ this whole thing, really, so. What the _fuck_. "You guys can't just have _sleepovers_ and not _tell_ anybody _—_ "

"Hey, no, _stop_ , this was _not_ a sleepover," Steve protests. 

"Okay, well, _we_ thought he was in the Upside Down, or something _—_ "

" _Wow_ , that sounds _real_ dumb of you guys. Isn't that place closed up, now?" 

" _Yes_ , but _—_ "

"Yeah, Steve, _except—_ "

"Steve, you should try being more open to the world changing around you, 'cause _—_ "

" _No_ ," Steve spits. "Will, is that you? Will, I'm _never_ doing that. I'm open to the world being _exactly how it actually is, in reality_ , okay? The _real_ world, is what I am fucking _open_ to. Dustin'll get back to you guys in a little bit; _I'm_ going now.  _Bye_." 

"You have to say _over_ ," Mike tells him. "If you're done _talking_ , Steve, you say _over_ , so that we _know_ , and you'd _already know that_ if you weren't always _interrupting_ people when they _talk_ , like what _you_ have to say is more important than anyone else.  _Over_."

The shower stops running just as Steve scowls, picks up the radio again, snarls, "Listen, I _get_ that nobody's told you guys this, but I'm too _cool_ for this kinda shit, and that's why I'm _never_  talking in your stupid secret geek code words, and, _hey_ , you know _what_? You should just be  _happy_ that I had this dumb conversation at _all_." 

Steve stuffs the radio back into Dustin's backpack, then covers the backpack with Dustin's sleeping bag, Steve's quilt, the spare blanket Dustin must have dug out of his closet. 

He waits for one minute, two, three, and he can hear a little bit of noise, but not too much, so. 

He's fucking _freezing_ , already, but it doesn't matter. 

It's _worth_ it.

 

 

 

 

It's just before eleven when Dustin tears apart Steve's kitchen, going, "Why don't you have any  _food_ here, Steve?!" 

"I _have_ food." 

"You have Hostess snack cakes, and ice cream, and aspirin, but you _only_ have ice cream 'cause I _brought_ it for you. _Shit_ , Steve, I don't _get_ it; are you _trying_ to starve and die?!" 

"I have _cake_. I'm not gonna _starve_."

"You _can_ starve if you only eat cake!"

"That makes _no_ sense," Steve informs him. "But even if it _did_ , I wouldn't _care_ , 'cause I _like_ cake, okay? Cake is _good_." 

"Cake is great! But you _will_ die if you _only_ eat cake." 

"I _won't_ , but you obviously don't actually care about that, so. What _exactly_ are you trying to do, here?" 

Dustin's all tiny shiny teeth when he smiles, "Well, _obviously_ , since you have no food, you and me should go get breakfast!" 

" _Obviously_ ," Steve rolls his eyes. "It's lunchtime, now, though." 

"Three meals a day is a _really_ fundamental, and ultimately _flawed_ , understanding of the basic needs of the human body that is _only_ taught to _—_ "

"I _can't_ ," Steve interrupts, suddenly feeling panicked. God. He's _tired_. He's not sitting through a science lecture. He's _not_. "No. Okay, I. _No_ , I don't want to do that, right now, at all, oh my _God_ , kid,  _why_ do you think I'm somebody who _cares_ about _science_?!"

"I don't know how you're _eighteen_ and you know _nothing about—_ "

"It's 'cause this stuff doesn't actually _matter_ , Dustin! _That's_ how!" 

"Well, you're _entitled_ to that opinion, but you're also _wrong_. Can you just get _up_ , please? I want pancakes!" 

"Was this whole dumb sleepover thing just a way to con me into buying you chocolate chip pancakes?" 

" _Why_ would I put _that_ much effort into something that objectively doesn't really matter?" Dustin asks, sounding _very_ innocent, and yet, also _very_ much like somebody who just went _way_ out of his way to con Steve into buying him breakfast. "Occam's razor, Steve, means if there's two answers to any given problem, the right answer is the one that _—_ "

"Oh my God! You're _lying_ , and you're using _science_ to do it, and that's  _overkill_ , man, 'cause I am _still_ somebody who does _not fucking care_." Dustin crosses his arms over his chest, narrows his eyes, opens his mouth, again, so Steve adds, quickly, "But fine, okay?!  _Fine_ , Christ, let's get some _fucking_ pancakes." 

Dustin beams. "I really like it when you're all reasonable, like this. It's cool. You should do it more."

" _No_." 

 

 

 

 

When they get in the car, Al Green's _Love and Happiness_  is playing on the radio.

"My dad used to like this song." 

Steve _can't_ take talking about Dustin's dad, right now.

He doesn't know the whole story, but, as far as  _Steve_ knows, the guy just checked out one day, and. 

That's _awful_ , for Dustin and his mom, of course, but. 

It's probably going to put Dustin in a bad mood if they talk about him now, and Steve  _doesn't_ want to deal with that. 

He offers, noncommittally, "Yeah, it's a good song." 

Dustin nods, then starts going through his backpack, again.

Steve made him leave the radio _and_ the sleeping bag in the house, and he'd  _thought_ that meant the bag was probably pretty empty, but. 

Apparently fucking _not_ , right?

"I made a mixtape," Dustin explains, when he realizes Steve's glaring at him as he pulls Springsteen's  _Born In The USA_  out of the tapedeck.

Steve closes his eyes, sighs, opens them again. " _Why_ would you do that?"

"For the  _drive_."

" _Yeah_." He could give Dustin shit for just _assuming_ that Steve was going to drive him to get pancakes, today, but. That _is_ what's happening, so. God, _whatever_. "So, I mean. You're telling me you made, like, a. Fun upbeat road trip kinda tape?"

"No, it's about how I'm sad 'cause girls don't like me."

"Are you for  _real_?" Dustin doesn't answer, just presses Play, and that annoying as hell song  _Jessie's Girl_  starts. Steve is not listening to more than one song of this tape. He's _not_. He sighs, " _Jesus Christ_."

"I _told_ you, Steve! Look, I don't know why you  _doubted—_ "

"Yeah, me neither. Wow. This is gonna be  _so_ fun." 

 

 

 

 

When they get to the diner with the chocolate chip pancakes, Steve doesn't bother to pick up a menu, just raises his eyebrows at Dustin behind his glasses until Dustin sighs, grabs a menu, scans it, then hands it over, pointing, saying, "Right here, okay?" 

" _Three_ kinds of milkshakes?" Steve sneers, after glancing at it for about two seconds. "What, that's _it_?" 

Dustin looks like he might _kill_ him, or something. 

"How many kinds of milkshakes do you _need_?!" 

" _God_ , Dustin, _I_ don't know. How many flavors of ice cream _exist_ , in the world?" 

" _Don't_ do this to me, Steve," Dustin whines. "I am having a _very_ hard day, already." 

Steve blinks. "I'm the _only_ person you have talked to,  _all_ day." 

" _Yes_ , but you are  _not_ as easy to handle as you probably think you are. I'm putting in a  _lot_ of work, over here."

Steve can't fucking _take_ this kid. 

He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, even though he's not too sure on what he's going to _say_ , and then a waitress stops in front of their table, chirps, "Hi! Can I start you boys with some drinks?"

"I _need_ a hot chocolate," Dustin tells her, like he thinks he's fucking  _tired_ , or something. Dustin rode his bike for forty-five minutes at, like, two AM, _fine_ , Steve can grant him that, but that was _nine hours ago_ , and he slept a _lot_ , so. Yeah, no, Dustin doesn't _get_ to be tired. _Steve_ is fucking tired. "But with a _little_ bit of coffee in it. And _he_  wants a vanilla milkshake. Do they come with whipped cream?" 

"Uh, yes?"

"With _extra_ whipped cream, and then. I don't know. _Not_ a cherry. Do you have sprinkles?" 

"Maybe?" 

"Some of those, too," Dustin decides. "And then, also, I need chocolate chip pancakes. Please."

The waitress blinks, then looks at Steve.

He shrugs.

The waitress shrugs, too, takes their menus, checks in, "Okay, boys, that's a hot chocolate, vanilla shake, chocolate chip pancakes? Give me a few minutes." 

When she's gone, Steve starts, slowly, "How did you _—_ "

"I  _pay attention_ ," Dustin interrupts, glaring. "You are  _still_  being too much for me, today. Look, can you just stop  _talking_ for a minute?" 

_Dustin_ wants  _Steve_ to stop talking? 

Dustin, of  _all_ fucking people, thinks  _Steve_ is too fucking much? 

Is Steve _actually_ in a different universe, right now?

"This is the  _most insulting—_ "

" _Steve_!"

"Oh my God,  _fine_!" 

"Thank you!" Dustin exclaims, shaking his head, crossing his arms over his chest. " _Unbelievable_." 

Steve's going to fucking _kill_ him. 

 

 

 

 

The waitress smiles at Steve. "It's  _so_ sweet of you to take your baby brother out for breakfast. I wish my kids got along as well as you two!"

Steve hasn't said a fucking word to Dustin since Dustin pretty rudely told him to shut the fuck up, and it's been, like,  _twenty minutes_ , so that's a  _long_ time, by their standards, but.

He's  _kind of_  hyper-focused on picking all the dumb rainbow sprinkles out of the whipped cream on his milkshake, but he glances up to give the waitress a smile before she leaves again, anyway.

She seems sweet.

She probably deserves it. 

" _Why_  do people think you're my  _brother_? We're  _friends_!" 

"I think maybe we both got that ambiguously Italian/Irish mix thing going on, man. Just accept it and move on." 

" _No_." Steve rolls his eyes. Dustin continues, "Are you  _sure_ you don't want to try my pancakes?" 

"You've asked me that  _ten times_." 

" _Four_ times, actually, but _yeah_ , I  _have_ , 'cause they're  _that_ good, and you're  _only_ hurting  _yourself_ , Steve." 

Steve's not feeling all that interested in trying these fucking pancakes, but he is _incredibly_ interested in Dustin leaving him the fuck _alone_ about these fucking pancakes, so he picks up a pancake with his hands, rips off a piece, drops the rest of it back onto Dustin's plate before he takes a bite. 

Steve chews, thinks, concedes, "Not bad." 

Both looking _and_ sounding absolutely fucking _horrified_ , Dustin shrieks, "What the  _fuck_ was  _that_ ; are you  _shitting_ me?! Oh my  _God_! Steve! Who  _raised_ you?! Was it  _wolves_?! You can  _tell_ me if it was wolves; I won't be  _mean_." 

" _I_ raised me, motherfucker, and you're  _already_ being mean to me, so  _shut up_." 

 

 

 

 

"So, we're all playing D&D at Will's, today." 

"Oh, yeah?" Steve waves to their waitress, pushes the diner's door open, heads out to the car. "I bet that's gonna be a lot of fun for you."

" _Steve_!"

"Why do you just  _expect_ me to do shit for you?" 

"What  _else_ do you have to _do_ today?"

"Yeah, no,  _nothing_ , but that doesn't mean I only fucking  _exist_ to run around after you, all day, every day."

"I  _barely_ even  _saw_ you yesterday," Dustin points out, and, hey, maybe that's  _kind of_  true, but.

"Yeah, right, wow,  _yesterday_ when you made me go to Billy  _fucking_  Hargrove's house,  _and_ you woke me up at, I don't know,  _some_ fucking  _ungodly_ hour _—_ "

"At  _eleven_?! You're  _angry_ at me 'cause I got you up at  _eleven_?! Who the hell  _are_ you?!  _Jesus_ , Steve, what fucking time do you  _think_ normal people get out of bed every day?!" 

"I'm not fucking  _angry_ at you,  _God_ , look, don't fucking  _yell_ at me,  _okay_?!" 

" _You're_  the one who'syelling at  _me_!" 

Steve yells, "No, I'm fucking  _not_!" 

Dustin raises his eyebrows. 

Steve can tell that he definitely was, in fact,  _just_ yelling, but Dustin fucking  _was_ yelling at him  _first_ , so. 

He makes sure to lower his voice when he asks, "What time are they starting?" 

"Three." 

_"Jesus."_

Dustin shrugs. "Will doesn't wanna play while his mom's there. She's being weird, lately, I guess." 

"Weird, like...?"

"Oh, like. Just. She always asks if we want _sandwiches_ , or if we wanna take a _break_ , and it's _nice_ of her, but, you know, once we start, we really can't just _—"_

Yeah, of _course_.

So.

Okay. 

" _Dustin_ , it is not _weird_ that she wants you dickheads to, whatever, _go outside_ and, fuck, _I_ don't know, maybe breathe in some fresh air that _hasn't_ been stuck in a tiny windowless room full of gross kids,  _all_ day long _—_ "

"We're not  _gross_!" 

"You _sure_? Just 'cause I think I've  _never_ seen Mike Wheeler wash his hands,  _ever_."

Dustin pauses, tilts his head, scrunches up his whole face. "Well. I. Okay, me _neither_ , I don't think, and I _promise_ you, I'm gonna revisit that, 'cause it _is_ pretty gross, but. Come _on_ , can you drive me, Steve? _Please_? My mom can't, and I _don't_ wanna miss this campaign, 'cause Lucas came up with this new _—_ " 

Steve rolls his eyes, decides to just go ahead and cut Dustin off early, so he doesn't get stuck listening to this shit _all_ fucking day.

"Yeah,  _listen_ , my friend, I do  _not_ fucking care, but I  _will_ drive you, okay? But that's, like. Two hours from now."

"Two and a  _half_."

" _How_ fucking dumb do you think I fucking  _am_?! I can  _fucking_ tell time, okay?! Jesus  _goddamn_ Christ!" 

" _Okay_." Dustin stares at Steve with wide eyes when he goes, "Calm  _down_."

Steve glares at him, but Dustin gives him absolutely _nothing_ in return, so.

Steve ups the stakes, pulls Dustin's dumb mixtape out of the deck, shoves  _Born In The USA_ back in, turns it up loud. 

It takes a minute, but then Dustin goes, "You know what, Steve? _Sometimes_ , I feel like you are my  _archnemesis_." 

"Yeah, okay, _listen_ , I am trying _real_ hard not to throw that dumb tape right out the window, alright, buddy?  _That's_ where I'm at, right now." 

Dustin grabs the tape, holds it protectively to his chest, glares at Steve. "That's called  _using excessive force_ , and it's basically  _universally_ illegal." 

"It's  _really_ not."

 

 

 

 

They kill about twenty minutes just by driving back to Hawkins, but there's _still_ two hours to go. 

Steve parks at the back of the movie theater's parking lot, because it's a central location that's mostly empty at this time of day, rolls down his window before he lights a smoke, offers, "I could take you to the Byers' early, if you want?" 

"Oh, I mean. If you have something you gotta _do_ , right now _—_ "

"I _don't_ ," Steve sighs, rolling his eyes. "You _know_ I don't, man." He drums his fingers against his steering wheel for a couple minutes, then gives in, asks, "Wanna see a movie, or something? I haven't seen anything in _forever_."

Dustin starts enthusiastically, "I really wanna see _Starman_ , but _—_ "

"What's it about?" 

"Well. Okay, _don't_ judge it, 'cause _—_ "

"Who's in it?"

"Well. _Okay_ , it's _—_ "

" _Look_ ," Steve cuts in, again, because this _already_ seems like it's _guaranteed_ to be something that Steve's going to fucking _hate_. "Can I be real with you?" 

"Please!"

"Great, so, I _need_ you to know that I'm _not_ watching any dumb shit about aliens. If I _wanted_ to watch some aliens, I woulda said, _hey, Dustin, wanna go see Supergirl?_ " Dustin rolls his eyes, but Steve pushes, " _Did_ I ask you that?" 

"No."

" _So_?"

" _So_ , you _don't_ wanna watch anything about aliens." 

"That's _exactly_ goddamn right. I _will_ see _Beverly Hills Cop_ , though, and, hey, _before_ you start talking shit about how it's a dumb movie and you're too cool for it, I'm gonna go ahead and promise that I _won't_ tell the Party that you saw it, so you don't gotta worry about your street cred taking a hit." 

And Jesus, Steve _wouldn't_ tell the other kids, just because he doesn't fucking _talk_ to the other kids, and he was fucking _joking_ , mostly, because Dustin doesn't _have_  any street cred. 

But Dustin wonders, hopefully, "You'd _really_ do that for me?"

Steve's _never_ been happier to be wearing his Ray-Bans. 

He rolls his eyes, claps Dustin on the shoulder, says, "Yeah, man. I'll do that for you. Now, we're gonna go watch _Beverly Hills Cop_ , and it's gonna be _fun_ , okay? Come on." 

 

 

 

 

Dustin's a cool kid, but he cares _way_ too much about what those other losers think of him. 

Steve gets where he's coming from. 

Kids are mean. 

_He_ was mean, and so was Tommy, and so was Carol, but so is Mike, sometimes, and Dustin, and _most_ of the Party, actually. 

Kids are _mean_ , and they like what they like, and they worry about getting bullied. 

But Steve's not worried about anything like that. 

He's worried about the blood that was inexplicably in his mouth, about the monsters that he fucking _knows_ exist, about Dustin showing up in the middle of the night. 

He's not worried about dumb shit, anymore. 

He _can't_ be. 

 

 

 

 

_Beverly Hills Cop_ is a riot. 

Sure, it's no _Risky Business_ , but it's fucking _hilarious_. 

They leave the theater and Steve stops, puts on his sunglasses, yawns, "So, you had fun, right? _Admit_ it."

Dustin rolls his eyes, like he thinks he's talking to somebody who  _wasn't_  just sitting next to him for the past two hours, or something. "It was okay."

"It was good!" 

"It was _okay_ ," Dustin repeats.

"You're lying, but whatever, _fine_. Wanna go to the Byers' house, now?" 

"We have a few minutes if you want to get ice cream."

Steve rests his elbows on top of his car, carefully watches Dustin for any signs of mockery or deceit or _some_ kind of villainous little kid master plan, breaks into a grin when he's pretty sure Dustin's being real. "That's good, 'cause that is actually _exactly_ what I wanna do, and I _probably_ would've just done it either way."

 

 

 

 

Maybe Ms Byers _is_ being weird, and maybe she's not, but if she's home when Steve pulls up outside her house, Steve doesn't see her. 

Who he _sees_ is Hopper, leaning against his truck, smoking a cigarette, looking annoyed as hell, and,  _yeah_ , he looks annoyed pretty much  _every_  time Steve sees him, but, to be  _fair_ , most of the times Steve's seen Hopper, there's been some huge monster crisis hanging over their heads. 

The rest of the times, Steve's been drunk as shit and causing trouble, so. 

It's  _almost_ fair. 

But, still, today, as soon as he sees Steve, Hopper demands, "You wanna tell me why the hell I'm suddenly fielding calls at 10PM about you starting fistfights with the local riffraff?"

"Are you talking to  _me_?"

" _Yeah_ , kid," Hopper sighs, rubbing his forehead, looking vaguely suicidal. "I'm  _talking_ to you,  _Christ_."

Steve  _still_ doesn't understand, so.

" _Okay_ , then, what the fuck are you talking  _about_?"

"I'm  _talking about_ five separate phone calls about you and Billy Hargrove, fighting outside the drive-in, late last night."

Steve's whole night before Dustin broke into his place is pretty fuzzy, so he doesn't actually remember that, but there  _was_ blood on his face when he woke up, and five calls  _does_ sound like a lot, and admittedly, fighting at the drive-in  _does_ seem a lot like something he and Billy might do, so.

He tries, "I'm sorry?" 

Hopper gives him a disappointed tired _irritated_ look, and walks into the Byers' house, which means.

Yeah, no, Steve's  _not_ going in there. 

Steve glances over at Dustin, who's still hovering by his passenger side door, snaps, "Can you go _away_ , already?! _Jesus_. Why am I  _always_ having to tell you to leave me alone?" 

Dustin sighs, "I'm still  _waiting_ to talk to you, Steve! Some guy interrupts us _—_ "

" _Some guy—_ "

"So _what_ , that doesn't mean I'm gonna just _walk away_ before I can  _talk_!" 

"Yeah,  _God forbid—_ "

" _So_ , are you picking me up when I'm done?" 

"Didn't I fucking  _tell_ your mom that I  _would_?" 

"No, you told  _me_." 

" _Yeah_ , but  _you_ told your mom I was gonna say _—_ " 

" _No_ , I _didn't_ , 'cause I didn't _know_ , and I didn't wanna  _marry_ you to it unless you were  _cool_." 

Steve blinks, bites away a surprised smile before Dustin can see it, even though it _might_ be a waste of time, because he knows Dustin can fucking _smell_ vulnerability from a half a mile away. 

He mutters, "Fuck, _fine_. Call and let her know." 

"I will! See you later!"

"Yeah, _whatever_ ," Steve sighs. "Go _away_ , okay?" 

Steve is planning on stopping at the diner off Main on his way home.

He's just been bullied by a little kid for _hours_.

He _deserves_ a milkshake. 

He doesn't end up getting one, though, because Max is there, out front, turned away from Steve, looking up at Billy, begging, "Come on, _please_? Billy, I'm already _so_ late. They're gonna start _without_ me!" 

"Oh, no," Billy says flatly, leaning back against the diner's wall, smoking a cigarette, very resolutely _not_ looking at Max. "How unfortunate for you." 

"If you _didn't_ want to drive me, why didn't you just _say_ —"

"I _did_ say so, Maxine. I _did_. You just didn't listen. Is that _my_ fault, now?"

" _Billy_ , that's—"

" _Is_ it my fault that you're a dumb bitch that never listens to me?"

And this isn't the scariest Billy's ever been, or the meanest, or even the most _offensive_ , but. 

Steve can't take it. 

He doesn't know why.

He calls out, "Hi," walks closer, asks, "Gimme a smoke?" 

Billy's face would usually be working its way into a smile, right now, but. 

Billy tenses, narrows his eyes, looks at Steve like he's _dangerous_ , or something.

Is it because he overheard them? 

Billy can't _know_ that he overheard, not for _sure_.

But, even if Billy  _did_ know for sure, Steve's _still_ heard Billy saying worse shit than that, right? 

And Billy _knows_ it, so.

What's his _problem_?

"You okay, Hargrove?" 

"Never been better." Billy's face looks like a mess, again, even though Steve's pretty sure it didn't look _this_ bad, yesterday. He's got the tiniest bit of blood beading up at the center of his mouth, like maybe he keeps biting the cut open, again and again and again. Steve's done that before, too. Billy drops his cigarette to the pavement, lights a new one for Steve, hands it over. "I have to take the step to see her friends before she has a fucking aneurysm. See you around, Harrington." 

 

 

 

 

Dustin left his mixtape in Steve's car. 

Steve takes it upstairs when he gets home, goes into his room, presses Play on his tapedeck. 

He looks around for Billy's jacket, finds the rest of his weed, curls up in bed. 

 _Jessie's Girl_ plays, _Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go_ plays, _What's Love Got To Do With It_ plays. 

Steve starts laughing, then.

He fucking _loves_ Tina Turner, and Dustin _doesn't_. 

This is _definitely_ a fun road trip tape.

Dustin's such a  _liar_.

He thinks he's fucking _hallucinating_ it, at first, when Springsteen starts up next, crooning,  _I get up in the evening a_ _nd I ain't got nothing to say,_ _I come home in the morning,_ _I go to bed feeling the same way, I ain't nothing but tired_ , and.

And, goddamn, Steve _loves_ this song.

This is _Dancing in the Dark_. 

This is the song Steve rocked out to _all_ fucking summer.

It annoyed the _shit_ out of Nancy, just like it annoyed the shit out of his parents when they came home, _just_ like it annoys Dustin _every time_ it comes on the radio when he's in Steve's car, but.

It's on the tape.

Nobody's here to see him, but Steve hides his face in Billy's dumb leather jacket, anyway.

He doesn't think he's ever smiled this wide, before. 

 

 

 

 

"You're a bad influence." 

It's Hopper who says it, but Steve's not dumb enough to believe that it's just Hopper who has come to this conclusion, who decided that Steve needed to hear this, who decided what to do about it.

What to do about  _him_.

"If you're going to keep getting in fights and drinking and doing drugs, you _can't_ be hanging around the kids. Understand?"

Steve's not drunk, _now_ , and, yeah, okay, maybe he's a _little bit_ stoned, but it's not like anybody's gonna be able to fucking _tell_ , and it's not like he's in a fucking  _jail cell_ , or something.

Jesus, fine, _maybe_ he got in a little fight with Billy, but he gets in fights with Billy _all the time_ , and if he can't _remember_ it, and if nobody called the cops to report them actually destroying any property, or anything, that's _probably_ a good sign, right? 

That's _progress_. 

Maybe, by this time next year, Billy and Steve will be best friends, or something.

This is dumb, and it's _mean_ , and it's not fucking _fair_.

"Okay."

" _Okay_." Hopper raises his eyebrows, shakes his head, demands, "Kid, are you _listening_ to me?" 

They're outside the Byers' house, again, because  _all_ of Steve's interactions with guys who'll happily beat him to death  _have_ to take place outside the Byers' house, now, or something. 

Steve's _only_ here to pick Dustin up because he told Dustin to tell his mom that he would, and.

And that's why this is happening  _right now_ , he realizes, suddenly.

Hopper could've called him, could've dropped by his house, but he didn't. 

Hopper saw him earlier, but he saw Ms Byers, too. 

She probably heard from Max's stepdad. 

Shit, _everybody_ probably heard from Max's stepdad. 

It doesn't matter _who_ made the first phone call, or who made the _last_ one, but. 

Everybody's been talking. 

Everybody's been talking, and, now.

Dustin's mom doesn't trust Steve, anymore.  

Steve says, again, " _Okay_." 

Steve goes home and decides to get fucking  _wrecked_. 

It's almost 1985, and he doesn't _care_ , because 1984 treated him like shit, and 83 wasn't so hot, either. 

What the fuck is going to happen  _next_?

Is he  _actually_ going to fucking die? 

What does he have to do to make  _that_ happen? 

Because, whatever it is, he'll  _do_ it, that's  _fine_ , he doesn't fucking  _care_ , anymore. 

He's so fucking  _tired_. 

 

 

 

Billy comes over a few hours later, which is _not_ as much time away from Billy Hargrove as Steve might have preferred, but _is_  still a lot more time than he really expected to get. 

"Hi, Billy." 

" _Hi_ , Harrington," beams Billy, who is _clearly_ drunk as hell. Steve isn't really in any position to judge, but. At least _he's_ not driving his fucking car around town, like this, so. "You going to invite me in, or what?" 

And, really, well.

What's Billy gonna do if Steve says _no_? 

Because, hey, he _can_ do that.

He can just say _no_. 

He says, "Okay." 

Billy raises an eyebrow. 

"Oh my God," mutters Steve. " _Fine_ , Jesus. Would you  _like_ to come inside, please, Billy, I'd  _really_ love it if you did _—_ " 

"Well, _shit_ , you don't have to  _beg_ me for it, Harrington," Billy says, quickly licking across his lips, stepping into the house, crowding Steve back against his own fucking door. "You know, boys don't make _passes_ at _—_ "

Steve puts a hand on Billy's chest, and it's like that night at the Byers', except it's not, because he can fucking _feel_ where he's digging his fingertips into Billy's skin, like he's clutching onto him, like he needs _stability_ , or something. Billy must be able to feel it, too, that it's different, because he stops, takes a half a step back, slowly tips his head back to look Steve in the eye.

"I just had a _really_ bad day," is what Steve goes with, in the end. "You fuck with me, tonight, and I _am_ gonna kill you."

"You're  _threatening_ me, King Steve?" 

"No. I'm just. Warning you." 

There's a long terrifying moment where Steve thinks Billy's going to leave.

He _wants_ Billy to leave, but.

Somehow, it's still a scary prospect.

Jesus, how fucked is _that_?

But finally, Billy smiles, nods, slips out of his jacket. 

"There is _no_ universe out there, King Steve, where I _can't_ fucking kill you with both of my hands tied behind my back, okay? You don't have to worry about anything like that, but. I appreciate the warning."

It's unclear why Billy came to _Steve's_ house, of all fucking places, but he did, so he's here, and Steve's just got to deal with it, so.

He deals with it. 

He walks back through the house to the kitchen, pours two glasses of whiskey instead of one, fishes a box of Hostess cupcakes out of the back of the pantry, then stops, shouts, " _Hey_ , did you _eat_ today?!" 

"I eat _every_ fucking day of my _life_ , Harrington!  _Multiple_ _times_ , usually!"

Steve rolls his eyes, takes the booze and the food back to the living room, says, "Okay, _here_." 

"Why did you ask if I _ate_? What kind of _question_ is that?" 

"It's the kinda question I only fucking _asked_ you 'cause I'm not gonna give you cake so you can rot your teeth and die if you haven't eaten real food, already," Steve snaps. "What are you, _dumb_?" 

" _No_ ," Billy replies, sitting up from where he was spread out over Steve's couch, gulping down his whiskey, picking up a cupcake. "But I'm also not _six_ , so I don't need my babysitter policing what I eat, alright?" 

"I am not your fucking _babysitter_." 

"Yeah, _I_ know that, amigo. I'm not sure _you_ do." 

 

 

 

Steve wakes up.

He doesn't remember going to sleep, but he's up, now, and the house is dark and still and quiet all around him, except for the thing that's looming over him, hungry and silent and _waiting_. 

"I want to go get milkshakes."

This is, as Dustin would say, _pretty_ out of character, but. 

Steve doesn't _care_.

He counters, blearily, "I want a caramel one, or you can go all by your fucking _self_." 

" _Please_ ," sneers Billy, grabbing onto Steve's arms, pulling him up and out of bed. "Like you wouldn't eat _any_ fucking ice cream I put into your  _goddamn_ hands, Jesus _Christ_ , will you just come _on_ , I don't need this whole _thing_ , let's just _go_." 

Apparently, Steve's entire _life_ , now, is just about loud teenage boys bursting into his bedroom to bully him in the middle of the night, but. 

 _Whatever_. 

 

 

 

 

Billy's not acting like somebody who got in a fight with Steve, last night. 

He's acting like somebody who went out of his way to find a diner that served caramel milkshakes, and then sat Steve down inside, and then talked to the waitress so Steve wouldn't have to do it. 

He's acting like Steve's his fucking _girlfriend_ , or something. 

Steve tries, slowly, "You know who I _am_ , right?" 

Billy looks like he's trying _real_  hard not to hit Steve in the face when he demands, " _What_?"

"Um, no, yeah. Nothing."

"Have you lost your fucking _mind_ , Harrington?" 

"No?" 

Billy doesn't look like he believes him, but. 

He says, "Sure." 

He says, "You better eat this _entire_ fucking milkshake, 'cause I had to straight up _beg_ the waitress to get the guy back there to make it for you." 

He says, "I got this book for Christmas that was really good."

Steve doesn't know what to say.

When Dustin talks about books, it's easiest to just let him go for it.

When Nancy talked about books, Steve let her go for it, too.

When he's at school, Steve has trouble paying attention, and that's why he doesn't fucking _read_ _books_ , so.

"Okay?"

Billy nods. "I'd lend it to you, but _—_ "

"Yeah, no, I _don't_ read. For fun, or. _Ever_ , I mean, so."

" _Yeah_ , King Steve," and Billy rolls his eyes, licks his lips, rests his head against one of his hands. The light hanging over their booth flickers, yellow and dim and casting a weird glow over Billy, over Steve, over this tiny pocket of the world, of Hawkins, of the whole fucking diner, and making it seem like. Something else. Like _somewhere_ else. Steve doesn't know where it feels like _instead_ , but. It feels good. Even _Steve's_ messed-up head would have a hard time having a nightmare that starts here. "I _know_  that. So, okay, at the beginning, you think it's just going to be this boring book about this guy who lives in New York, and I _know_ , you're thinking, _how_ could New York be boring, except it fucking _is_ , but _then—_ "

 

Billy eats two pieces of pecan pie, a BLT, and about a _million_ fries.

Steve drinks a caramel milkshake, a vanilla milkshake, and a peanut butter fudge milkshake, almost orders another one, but then Billy cuts him off, goes, "Okay, hey, _no_ , your blood is going to _turn into_ ice cream if you eat any more of it."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Okay, Dad, _thanks_. Good looking out." 

"Shut _up_ ," Billy hisses. "What, like you'd _like_ me more if I let you _drop dead_ from eating too much _ice cream_?"

"Three shakes _isn't_ too much _—_ "

" _One_ milkshake, in one sitting, is _way_ too fucking much," Billy corrects him, immediately, looking fucking _furious_ , all of a sudden. "You _actually_ just consumed enough ice cream for _six people_ , do you _get_ that?" 

"Are you saying you want me to share a milkshake with you? I mean, 'cause, we _could_ do that, if you _want_ , but it seems a little gay, but  _I'm_ up for it if _you_ are." 

Billy raises his eyebrows, shakes his head, before he stands up and says, "I'm going to piss, and then we're leaving." 

"Thanks for the play-by-play, my friend. _Really_ means the world to me." 

Billy shoves Steve's shoulder, _hard_ , as he walks past him. 

And it's a _lie_ , but Steve still calls after him, loudly, "That _didn't_ hurt me at _all_ , but _okay_!" 

 

 

 

 

Billy drives Steve's car back to Steve's house, and he's _still_ talking about the dumb book that he read that Steve doesn't care about. 

"But _then_ you figure out that Amanda pretty much sucks, and _wasn't_ worth his time, at all."

Steve raises his eyebrows. "Yeah. Sounds...interesting." 

"What, King Steve, you don't fucking  _care_ about this, or something?" 

Steve shouldn't say it.

God, he _shouldn't_ say it.

Steve demands, affronted, " _Why_ did you think we lived in a universe where I _would_ care about this?!" 

" _Okay_ ," says Billy, rolling his eyes. " _Whatever_."

"No, come on, man, you gotta tell me. What did I _do_ to make you think I was _gonna_ care, 'cause I'm _not_ that guy, you know? I barely care about my _own_ shit, so, I mean, I'm _not_ gonna care about. _Fictional_ shit that you read, one time, or whatever."

"This is a fucking _critically acclaimed_ work of _art_."

 _Please_. 

Like Steve's never heard anything like _that_ , before.

He says, as gently as he can, "Dustin says the _same_ exact shit to me when I say I don't care about _The Hobbit—_ "

"How do you just _not care_ about Tolkien? Jesus, you didn't get _hugged_ enough as a baby, or something? Do you got a _heart_ , in there, Harrington?" Billy asks, reaches out, gropes a hand across Steve's chest. " _The Hobbit_  is a fucking _classic_."

Steve groans, buries his face in the jacket that's been balled up in his lap for the drive home, because Billy shoved it at him when they were leaving the restaurant, because Steve was cold. 

He was _cold_ because Billy had just let him eat three entire milkshakes at once, and not really because it was cold outside, but. 

It _was_ also cold outside, so he took the jacket, and. 

He wonders, "Are you secretly some kinda English nerd, Hargrove?"

"No."

" _Okay_ ," yawns Steve, even though that was _clearly_ a lie. "I'm _never_ reading _The Hobbit_." 

"You are the _dumbest_ goddamn person I've ever met. I'm talking about my _entire_ life, and the dumbest person, hands down, is _you_." 

Steve doesn't _doubt_ that, but.

"I won a spelling bee when I was seven."

Billy scoffs, " _No_ , you didn't."

"I _did_. And not just Indiana, like. The _whole_ tri-state."

"Jesus."

"Yeah," Steve nods slowly. "I was only seven. Maybe I peaked too soon."

"Well, _yeah_. Wow. _Fuck_."

 

 

 

 

Steve only wakes up when he does because somebody's yelling his name downstairs, but it still takes him a few minutes to find the energy to stand, get dressed, go down into the living room. 

Billy's smoking inside, even though Steve's not really allowed to do that, so he's going to have to open up all the windows even though it's _way_ too cold for that. 

The kids are downstairs, not all of them, but Dustin and Max and Mike, and Mike's the one who talks, fucking  _Mike_ who fucking  _hates_ Steve, because Max looks too shocked for words, and Dustin looks like he's been crying, and like he might start again, at any fucking minute.

Mike starts slow, but he doesn't stay that way for long, settles into a fast loud _vicious_ rhythm of, "You can't just _ditch_ us! If you didn't _want_ to be friends with us, you didn't have to pretend you did! You're _not_ as cool as you think, okay, you're an _asshole_! Jesus, we don't even  _like_ you, except Dustin, and you're just gonna screw him over?! What's _wrong_ with you?!" 

Steve blinks a few times, swallows, shakes his head, before he _gets_ it.

He's the bad guy.

He's the villain.

Hopper and everybody else had to tell the Party  _something_ , so they said, what?

That Steve checked out? 

That's not true, and it's not fair, but if any of them were _his_ kids, maybe he would've said the same thing. 

But they're _not_ his fucking kids.

Steve's all alone, because he's _always_ alone, and it was _stupid_ of him to think that that was going to change.

"Everybody needs to get the fuck out of my house." 

And he looks confused, but Billy stares at Steve, stares at Max, and then he leads the kids out the door. 

The kids think Steve's abandoning them.

And, Billy, _Jesus_. 

Billy doesn't even _like_ the kids, but  _he_ thinks Steve's abandoning them,  _too_ , and Billy doesn't like that, and Steve  _knows_ it, because he took his jacket, his dumb ugly fucking jacket that he _keeps_ leaving at Steve's place, like he thinks that's _not_ the oldest trick in the book, like _Steve's_ never pulled that one, like Steve doesn't _know_ he's just leaving something behind so he has an excuse to come _back_ someday, except he took it with him, now, so.

Billy's not planning on coming back. 

Steve goes to Tommy's.

Tommy hates Steve, now, but Steve looked after Tommy for _years_ , kept bullies off his back until they were both strong enough tall enough  _cool_ enough to not have to worry about that kind of thing. 

Tommy _owes_ him, and.

Tommy's mom has a Valium prescription.

Valium for anxiety, something else for sleep, something else for her episodes. 

Tommy always hated talking about the episodes, so Steve didn't ask about it that much, and he won't ask about it, now, either, because Tommy hates him, _fine_ , but that doesn't mean that _Steve_ hates _Tommy_.

When Tommy opens his door, he laughs, "How the mighty have  _fucking_ fallen," and he sneers, "Look at you," and when he sees how messed up Steve is, still, he gasps, " _Fuck_ , Steve."

"I need. Does your mom still have Valium?" 

Tommy replies, sounding amused, because this is fucking  _funny_ , Steve wasn't really aware that it was, but, hey, it fucking _must_ be, "Yeah, upstairs. Hang on." 

Steve took care of Tommy, because that's what he does.

Maybe he doesn't always do the best job, but he takes care of things, of people, until they don't want him anymore.

Tommy never took care of _him_ , though, and he doesn't now, either, doesn't invite Steve into his house, doesn't ask why he wants to get fucked up, just tips a few pills into Steve's hand and tries to close the door again, but Steve shoves his other hand between the door and the frame, shakes his head, says, "No, I. I need _more_ than that."

 

 

Steve takes the pills once he's taken his car home.

It's Dad's car, technically, it's just that Dad's never home, but it's a nice car, and it doesn't deserve Steve's bullshit. 

 _Nobody_ deserves Steve's bullshit.

He leaves the keys in his room, pulls on a scarf, gloves, and goes back out again.

Getting stoned off pills is what baby Steve did all the fucking time, but he did it with Tommy, and they had fun. 

Baby Steve was a fucking idiot.

And Steve doesn't have Tommy, now.

He doesn't have  _anyone_ , now.

And, Jesus Christ, he's _not_ even stoned. 

He definitely  _took_ enough pills to be stoned, but he's  _not_. 

He's still got too much energy, he's still furious, betrayed, confused.

He walks past the arcade, where Billy's standing around outside, smoking a cigarette, calling out, " _Hey_ , pretty boy! Come here for a sec." Steve walks right up to him, and now they're standing so close,  _too_ close, closer than Steve's  _ever_ stood to anyone on purpose, and Billy smiles, breathes out smoke, asks, "You on something?"

"What?"

"Your eyes are  _fucked_ , Harrington."

"Why are you at the arcade?"

"I was here the other day, breaking Max's high scores. Still have to finish some of them up." 

Steve rolls his eyes. "So, pettiness. You're here 'cause of _pettiness_?"

"You can call it whatever you want." Billy puts out his smoke, raises his eyebrows, catches Steve's chin in one of his hands. "Want to play?" 

Steve _wants_ to go score some more drugs. 

He tries, "I don't really play games?" 

Billy grins, then.

He looks like he's just heard the funniest joke of his _life_. 

"Well, we both know _that's_ not true, don't we?"

Steve doesn't know what that _means_. 

Billy's still grabbing his face. 

He raises his eyebrows. 

"Okay?" 

Steve's _still_ not stoned, and he's _really_ aware of it.

He's _anxious_ about it.

These pills _aren't_ going to last that long.

What the hell is he gonna do, _then_?

He hovers over Billy's shoulder while he plays game after game after game.

He almost falls over, once, when they're walking past the photo booth, and Billy stops, looks at him, wonders, "You good, King Steve?"

Steve doesn't trust his voice, right now. 

He nods.  

 

 

When the arcade closes, Billy goes outside, lights two cigarettes, hands one to Steve as he tells him that he's going to drive Steve home.

Steve didn't _ask_ for a cigarette, _or_ for a ride home, so. 

Wow.

What's that called, again?

 _Personal growth_ , or something? 

It feels like, every time Steve looks at him, Billy's turning into a little bit better of a person. 

And.

And Steve's doing the exact fucking _opposite_ of that. 

 

 

 

Steve must fall asleep on the way home, because he's up, now, and he's alone, in Billy's car, parked outside the gas station. 

Steve looks out the window, but it's dark, and. 

The door opens, and Billy sits down, with a cigarette in his hand, leans his head back against his seat, says, "I _hate_ this fucking town." 

"Really? _Shocker_."

"Shut the fuck up," Billy tells him. "Do you think I _don't_ want to kill you, or something? What universe do you think you're _in_ , right now?" 

And it's still dark outside, but it's dark in Billy's car, _too_ , and if Billy wasn't so close, Steve would be scared.

Scared of. 

Whatever's out there in the dark. 

 _Monsters_. 

There might be monsters outside, more little leftover baby demodogs, maybe. 

But there's also a monster in the car that Steve's in, right now, and it wants to know where Steve thinks he is. 

Steve doesn't really _know_.

Steve lies, "Dead people and monsters." 

"Get your head in the game, pretty boy." Billy shakes his head, exhales, reaches out to catch Steve's face in his hand, again. "There's no monsters here." 

But that's not _true_ , because _Billy_ is a monster, and.

Steve's one, too. 

"Are you _sure_?" 

And Billy _can't_ be sure, because that's just not true, it's not, it's _not_ , there _are_ monsters, they're _everywhere_ , there's one touching Steve _right now_ , and it nods, it smiles, it says, "Yeah, King Steve. I'm sure. Close your eyes."

 

 

 

 

Steve stumbles his way up to his front door. 

The house is dark, just like Hawkins is dark, all around him, and Billy's car is idling in the driveway.

Steve's not a _kid_. 

He doesn't need Billy to make sure he gets inside okay, but if he _did_ , Billy would probably be more useful if he came inside.  

There could be somebody in his house. 

There could be _something_ in his house.

Steve pauses on the steps, and he doesn't think he pauses for _too_ long, but maybe he does, because Billy honks the horn of the Camaro, shouts out his window, "Are you fucking _dumb_ , King Steve?! Go the fuck to sleep!" 

Steve rolls his eyes, holds up both his middle fingers, slips through his front door. 

 

 

 

 

It's really late on Saturday night, and there's somebody in Steve's house. 

It's not Dustin.

There's no sleeping bag on the floor, no baseball cap resting on Steve's desk, no ice cream bribes in sight. 

There's someone in the house, someone that's not Steve. 

He needs to get up and find out who it is. 

He rolls over in bed, pulls on a sweatshirt, starts looking around his room for his bat. 

It's gotta be around here _somewhere_. 

 

 

 

 

Max Mayfield is wearing socks, sweats, a Hawkins High t-shirt that could be Billy's, or it could be Steve's, but almost definitely _can't_ be Max's, and she's sitting on Steve's living room floor, showing Eleven how to dunk Oreos into milk without the cookies falling to pieces in the process.

Steve stands at the foot of his staircase for a few minutes, just drinking it in, despairing of all of his life choices that have led him to being the kind of person whose house is always getting broken into by teenagers.

When he's done with that, Steve walks into the living room, climbs over the back of the couch, sits down on top of the coffee table.

He helps himself to an Oreo, even though he didn't have any Oreos in the house, earlier, so Max must have brought them with her. 

He's hungry, and she's trespassing.

He can steal her food.

He should be asking questions, probably, but.

"Thanks for not eating on the couch. My mom freaks out over that." 

El gives him a hesitant little smile, but Max just looks up at him, yawns, "Oh yeah, my dad used to be like that, too. And he'd make me put all my cups on _coasters_ , even when I was _super_ little? I mean, who _does_ that? _Really_ annoying."

Steve scrapes the cream out of an Oreo with his teeth, sticks the cookies back together, slips them back into the box with the other Oreos. 

" _God_. I fucking _hate_ coasters."  

"Yeah," Max nods seriously. "I feel you." 

 

 

 

Max says that Steve talked to her and Eleven a few hours ago. 

It's four in the morning, now, and Max _swears_  that Steve was downstairs around ten-thirty, that he talked to Max and Eleven, that he said it was okay for them to stay. 

He doesn't believe it, but when he asks Eleven if she wants to call Hopper and go home, she shakes her head, and.

What's he supposed to _do_?

The kid has fucking _superpowers_. 

If she doesn't want to go, she doesn't want to go.

Steve requests, "Just keep it down, in here, okay? I'm trying to sleep." 

Max rolls her eyes. "You said _that_ before, _too_." 

"Then maybe you should've been fucking _quieter_  before, Max! _Jesus_." 

Steve's only halfway up the stairs when Max tells El, quiet and irritated and probably _really_ fucking honest, " _Ugh_ , it's like there's _two_ of _Billy_."

 

 

 

 

Steve wakes up feeling half-dead, like he hasn't fucking slept at _all_ , or something, and.

There was something he had to do this morning.

He remembers thinking about it, right before he fell asleep, so it must've been important.

 _Shit_.

What _was_ it?

 

 

 

 

Steve has to wait three minutes after he asks, _hi, Mrs Hargrove, I'm sorry to bother you so early, but is Billy at home?_

Three _entire_ fucking minutes, but then Billy, voice all sleepy and deep and rough, asks, "Who's this?" 

"Max is at my house."

Billy's quiet for a second, five, ten, and then he's hissing, sounding fucking _murderous_ , "Of fucking _course_ she is, that fucking _bitch_ , I swear to _fucking_ God _—_ "

"You gonna come get her?" 

There's a tired guttural _primal_ kind of noise over the line before Billy tells him, "Yeah, in a minute. She bugging you? You can just kick her outside." 

"No, it's. It's cool, they're keeping themselves busy."

"Who the fuck is _they_?! If Sinclair's there, I _swear_ —"

"It's not a boy, just. A friend from school, I think. A girl." 

And Billy sighs, "Okay. Yeah, fine, I. I'm a little busy, but I'll be there around, uh. _Goddamn_ , I don't know. Half hour, maybe." 

 

 

 

 

Billy's in Steve's bedroom.

Billy's in Steve's room, standing by the closet, then blocking the door, and then he's down on top of Steve, rolling around on his bed with him, saying, _pretty boy_ , saying,  _baby_ , saying,  _close your eyes_. 

Billy's in Steve's room, standing by the window, smoking, asking, "You awake, over there?" 

"I...think?" 

Billy nods, watches Steve critically for a little bit, shrugs. "Max's friend's dad's going to pick her up from over by where the McDonald's is."

Steve _doesn't_  believe that, but Eleven isn't his problem, so. 

"Okay. I can take her." 

"Bet you could," Billy hums. " _Alternatively_ , you could get your shoes on, though, and I think if you _did_ , then I'd buy you some soft serve." 

Steve can buy his _own_ fucking ice cream.

He doesn't _need_ Billy.

 _Jesus_ , when the fuck did Billy even _get_ here?

Still.

He tries, "Can I get one of those chocolate dipped cones?" 

"No, _dumbass_ , you _can't_ , 'cause it's _winter_ in _Indiana_ , so  _nobody_ is buying ice cream except _you_. They only fucking _sell_ those in the _summer_." 

That was an unnecessarily mean way of saying _no_ , but.

Steve yawns, "Yeah, well, then, I'm not that interested."

Billy gives him a cold wide cruel kind of a smile, leans forward, reminds Steve, "I didn't _ask_ you if you were fucking _interested_. I _told_ you to put on some fucking shoes."

 

 

 

 

Nancy and Jonathan are picking up food when they get to McDonald's.

But that could be okay.

Nancy's tiny, and Jonathan is, too. 

They don't take up very much space. 

 _Steve_ can exist, and _they_ can exist, and that's  _fine_. 

They're not like Billy, who takes over all the space he possibly can until nobody else can fucking _breathe_. 

But Steve spent most of the drive over here messing around with the radio in Billy's car, bullying Max into shouting along to  _What's Love Got To Do With It_ with him, when it came on, and then _Time of the Season_ , and then _Girls Just Want To Have Fun_ , which Steve _doesn't_ even like.

That was mostly just a spite thing, so. 

Billy's kind of annoyed, he's _right_ on the edge, Steve can fucking _tell_ , and.

And Billy shoves Steve, light and friendly and playful, by _their_ fucked-up standards, anyway, calls him a _fucking rich kid asshole_ , and that's when Jonathan stops walking the other way, asks, "Hey, Billy, you don't have a job, do you? Just 'cause you got a  _really_ nice car."

Steve doesn't get what's going on.

He's _tired_ today, just like he's tired _every_ damn day, but Billy is Billy, and that means that he's smart, and quick, and mean, _all_ the fucking time.

Billy hands his wallet to Max, pushes at her shoulder until she takes El by the hand and drags her into the McDonald's with her, and.

That's when Billy turns to Steve, gives him a _can you believe this shit? No? Yeah, me neither_ kind of a look, licks his lips, smiles with all his teeth. 

Nancy tries, "Stop," and, " _Hey_ ," and, "Come on, Jonathan, _stop it_ ," but.

Jonathan shrugs off the hand Nancy's trying to rest against his shoulder, steps closer to Billy, pushes, "I mean, who's paying for  _that_?" 

 

 

The fight only lasts for about a minute, total, but it's _far_ more scary than Steve was expecting it to be. 

Billy doesn't laugh, doesn't talk, doesn't waste time like he did with Steve, just hits harder and harder and _harder_ , faster and faster and _faster_ , and Jonathan.

Jonathan holds his own, at first, but Steve thinks, more than once, _he's gonna die. This is it. Jonathan Byers is gonna get killed in a fucking McDonald's parking lot by some asshole from out of town, 'cause he was talking shit about his car. How white trash is that?_

Nancy shouts, " _Stop_!"

Nancy calls, " _Steve_!" 

Nancy says, voice breaking and small and scared, "Please, you're going to _kill_ him," and.

She's not Steve's fucking girlfriend, not anymore, but Steve loves her.

 _Loved_ her. 

He doesn't say anything, just gets between Billy and Jonathan, and Jonathan tries to push him out of his way, but so does Billy, and then Jonathan's hitting him in the face, swearing, "Shit! Shit, _sorry_. Steve. _Shit_ , are you _okay_?" 

Jonathan puts his hands on Steve's shoulders, tries to take a look, but Billy's still stronger and bigger and _more_ , so he shoves Jonathan away, grabs Steve's chin, tilts his face around.

Steve's eyes meet Billy's, and, _yeah_ , Billy looked pissed off before, he _did_ , but Steve doesn't think he's ever seen Billy this angry. 

Even when he knocked Steve out, Billy didn't seem _this_ worked up.

Once again, Steve  _doesn't_ understand what's happening. 

Billy rubs his thumb across Steve's cheekbone, lets go, glares at Jonathan when he tells Steve, "Go get some ice on that, pretty boy. Come on, _go_."

 

 

 

 

Max and El are probably still eating fries, Nancy's probably still trying to convince Eleven to go home, and Steve's in the bathroom, running cold water over a few sheets of paper towels, when Jonathan walks in, says, sounding disapproving, already, "Hey, I don't know what you think you're doing, but you _shouldn't_ be hanging around that guy." 

"He's my _friend_."

"No," Jonathan shakes his head. "He's not."

Steve thinks, _you fucked me over. You don't get to talk to me. You don't get to pretend to care about me._

Steve thinks, _you stole my girlfriend, you invaded my fucking privacy, you betrayed my fucking trust. You're not my friend._

Steve thinks, _I like Billy. He takes care of me. Do you want to know how long I've been waiting for somebody, anybody, to fucking take care of me?_

Steve lies, "Fine, Billy's  _not_ my friend."  

Quick, heartbeat quick, gunshot quick, ripping off a Band-Aid quick, Jonathan asks him, "You're not having sex with Billy, are you?" 

"If you're worried about the queer thing _—_ "

"I'm _not—_ "

"I kinda just feel like you and me are probably  _real_ unlikely to _ever_ share a locker room, so, you know what, man? I  _think_ you're gonna be okay." 

Jonathan's mouth drops open. 

In the mirror, Steve watches himself smile, cold and lazy and amused, and maybe there's no blood on his mouth, now, but. 

He can taste it, anyway.

The door opens again, and now Billy's got one foot in the men's room, one foot out the door, and he's snapping, "Hurry your ass up, Harrington, I'm not _trying_ to hang out here all fucking day; you and me got places to be." 

That's a lie, right?

They _don't_ have places to be. 

Steve's pretty sure they _were_ just going to hang out at McDonald's all day. 

"Yeah, _chill_ , Hargrove, I'm _coming_."

 

 

 

Billy drives them out to the middle of nowhere, out of Hawkins, out of _Indiana_ , maybe, _Steve_  sure as hell doesn't know, but. He parks, and it could be somebody's farm, it could be some random plot of land that doesn't mean anything to anybody, but, right now, it's the Byers' driveway, it's the near-dark booth in that diner, it's.

Somewhere that's Billy's, and Steve's, and no one else's. 

No man's land.

Billy gets out of the car, lights a cigarette, gets something out of the trunk. He opens Steve's door, sits down on the ground, tugs Steve around until he's sideways in his seat, and now there's a bottle pressed up against Steve's thigh, and Billy grins, "I'm getting you  _wasted_ , Harrington." 

Steve thinks, _why?_

Steve thinks, _I just got hit in the face 'cause you're a psycho with no self control. You really think I wanna be drunk and vulnerable, in the middle of fucking nowhere, with you, right now?_

Steve thinks, _I thought you said there's no universe where we're friends. What the fuck are you and me doing? Why can't you just tell me what you want?_

Steve says, "Okay. Thanks."

 

 

 

 

It's been hours of Billy smoking, Steve drinking, both of them scowling at nothing when Billy finally breaks the silence to demand, "Okay, but who the  _hell_ would want to fuck  _Byers_ when they could be fucking  _you_?" 

And, okay, but.

"Fucking  _exactly_! What the _fuck_?!" 

Billy laughs, quiet, confused, _shocked_. "That bitch is fucking  _crazy_." 

"I  _know_!" Steve kills the bottle of whiskey, drops it, leans back against the Camaro. "Hey, you got any snacks?" 

"In  _what_ world am I just  _casually_ carrying food with me, everywhere?" 

"Post apocalypse Billy would have snacks."

"Post apocalypse Billy isn't  _real_ ," Billy reminds him. 

" _Sucks_ , 'cause post apocalypse Billy could fuck me  _whenever_ he wanted, 'cause. Post apocalypse Billy would, like. Take  _care_ of you, you know? So, yeah. Yeah, he'd deserve it  _whenever_." 

It's a dumb thing to admit to real life Billy, it  _is_ , but. 

It is also fucking  _true_ , so.

 _Whatever_. 

Billy's quiet for a  _long_ time, enough time that Steve thinks maybe he's about to be murdered, or forced into apologizing, or something, and Steve's never had to apologize for anything  _this_ dumb, he's pretty sure, so he's not looking forward to  _that_ , but then Billy asks, "What's post apocalypse Billy's hair situation looking like? I got a routine, and I feel like any given apocalypse would  _really_ fuck my shit up." 

"Yeah, no, the hair situation  _isn't_ great," Steve confirms, immediately. He's been thinking about this a _lot_. "But I think apocalypses are  _like_ that, man; I don't know what to tell you." 

"Yeah. That's. _Not_ ideal." 

"I guess just. Avoid? The apocalypse, then?" 

"Yeah, okay." Billy nods, sighs, runs a hand through his hair. He looks tired. He says, "Yeah, that's what I'll do." 

It's one of those charged moments that feels like a turning point.

It feels like, if Steve doesn't ask now, he never will.

He'll _never_ know.

And he's drunk, and tired, and dumb, so Steve asks, "Billy?" 

"What?" 

"Did we have a fight the other night?" 

Billy turns his head, looks at Steve, _really_ looks at him.

It's not a new thing.

Billy's _always_ looking at him, and Steve _still_ doesn't know why. 

Nancy says, in his head, _you're bullshit._

Dustin says, in his head,  _you are _not_ as easy to handle as you probably think you are._

Springsteen sings, in his head,  _look in the mirror, I want to change my clothes, my hair, my face_.

He doesn't know what it is about him that Billy likes. 

Whatever it is, Billy's the _only_ person who likes it.

It's minutes later when Billy finally licks his lips, shakes his head, hums, " _No_. Why?" 

"I don't know. Just. Somebody said we did, but I couldn't remember." 

"Hate to break it to you, King Steve," Billy drawls. "But I'm _not_ that easy to forget."  

 

Post apocalypse Billy isn't real, but he'd take care of Steve.

Steve  _knows_ it. 

Sometimes real life Billy is  _almost_ post apocalypse Billy, is soft and gentle and tells Steve what to do, keeps him moving and feeds him milkshakes and helps him sleep. 

Post apocalypse Billy isn't real, but real life Billy wrestles Steve into his car, drives them back into town, then wrestles Steve right back out, walks them into the pizza parlor, asks, "You ever eat pineapples on pizza?" 

"No?"

Billy sneers, "You're not fucking  _living_ , man," but he lets it go.

 

 

 

 

The world must be ending.

Billy never lets _anything_ go.

"You _don't like_ deep dish pizza?!" 

" _No_. If I _wanted_ to eat glorified fucking lasagna, I'd _buy_  some fucking lasagna." 

"That's so  _weird_. My mom would, like.  _Hate_ you." Billy snorts. Steve insists, "She  _would_! She  _loves_ pizza. She makes us go to Lou Malnati's  _every_ time we go to Chicago."

"I'm not arguing that your mom  _wouldn't_ fucking hate me; I just don't think  _pizza's_ the fucking reason _why_ , okay?" 

Steve doesn't know what that means, but it's not _really_ the important thing, so.

He presses, "Pizza is  _really_ serious, Billy." 

" _Okay_ , Harrington, _Jesus_ , get off my fucking dick, already!"  

The door to the pizza parlor opens, then, but it's a busy night, so it's been opening and closing a lot, so.

So Steve doesn't think it's a big deal.

And then he does, turns in his seat, because Lucas exclaims, "He's _lying_!"

"I'm _not_! Why the _hell_ would I _lie_ about something this _dumb_?! I'm _not_ lying!" 

"Yes, you _are_!"

" _Dustin_ ," Mike sighs. "You did _not_ see _Beverly Hills Cop_."

"I _absolutely_ did!" 

"It's _rated R_ ," Max says. "I _know_ , 'cause _—_ "

"It _is_ rated R, but I  _did_ see it!" Dustin interrupts, loudly. " _Steve_ took me!" 

All the kids stop talking. 

They don't _like_ Steve, anymore. 

He almost forgot. 

Max and El came over, and Steve _still_ doesn't know why. 

Dustin came over, and Steve _doesn't_ know why, and he _never_ fucking will, because nobody likes him, anymore, except for Billy, and Billy's never going to know the truth about anything in Hawkins, so he's never going to know about even half of the stuff that the kids know, not that he would tell Steve if he _did_ , and. 

And Will spots them, first, raises his voice, asks, "Steve, did you _really_ take Dustin to see _Beverly Hills Cop_?" 

Steve shrugs. "Yeah."

There's a long beat of silence, Steve almost thinks he's got to say something _else_ , or.

God, he told Dustin he wouldn't say _anything_ , but he just did.

 _Fuck_.

Why is he _always_ fucking up?

But all Dustin does is shout, "I _told_ you so!" 

"I can't _believe_ you saw that without me!" Mike shouts back, shoving at Dustin's shoulders. "You _know_ I like Eddie Murphy _—"_

"Yeah, _wow_ , oh my God, I _forgot_ , you're _so_ special, just 'cause you saw one _whole_ episode of  _Saturday Night Live_ —"

"I've seen it _more than once_!"

"When you were sleeping over at Will's, and his _dumb_ brother was watching—"

"Jonathan's _not_ dumb!" 

" _Shhh_ ," Max smiles reassuringly at Will. "Maybe they'll just tire each other out." 

Lucas chuckles at that, and all the kids stop shouting, just start having these quiet intense private little kid conversations, instead, and. 

And it's over, and Steve _was_ a part of it, and now he's _not_ , but. 

That's okay, isn't it? 

He doesn't need to be right in the middle of everything, all the time. 

Some things can belong to other people. 

 _Nobody_ gets _everything_.

Steve's pretty sure nobody asked him to, but it seems like Billy's keeping an eye on the kids, now, even as he asks Steve, "You _just_ can't help yourself, huh?" 

"Shut up; Dustin's my _friend_." 

" _Oh_ ," Billy coos. "He _is_?" 

" _Shut up_!" 

"How sweet!" 

"Shut the _fuck_ up!" 

"Or _what_?" Billy asks, grinning. "What're you gonna _do_ to me, King Steve?" 

Nothing, right? 

Billy knows that already, doesn't he?

He's not _dumb_.

Steve mumbles, scowling, "Nothing." 

" _Oh_ ," Billy repeats, gentle and soft and mocking. "You feeling sleepy, over there? Bedtime?" 

"I _hate_ you."

 

 

 

 

Billy's sleeping on Steve's couch, his jacket is in Steve's room, again, and.

There's a book on Steve's windowsill. 

It's almost entirely new and perfect except for where it has  _W. HARGROVE_ written at the very top of the inside cover in black ink. 

Steve runs his thumb across the name, a few times, thinking about nothing. 

Fine.

Fine, it's not _nothing_.

 _W_ , because nobody's _actually_ named Billy.

Well, sometimes people in Indiana get named dumb shit, Steve _knows_ that, but.

Nobody who's from a city has a name like _Billy_. 

He wants to say it out loud, wants to taste it on his tongue, see if he likes it.

He doesn't like the sound of the name _Billy Hargrove_. 

Billy Hargrove is a nightmare come to life. 

William Hargrove, though?

He's a stranger.

He could be anybody.

He could be the guy who buys Steve ice cream at midnight, who waits in Steve's driveway until Steve locks his door, who talks to him all night long about books he _knows_ Steve's never gonna read. 

Steve flips past the table of contents, shifts so the book catches more of the light coming in from outside, settles on the first page of the story, the page that starts out, _You are not the kind of guy who would be at a place like this at this time of the morning. But here you are, and you cannot say that the terrain is entirely unfamiliar, although the details are—_

"What you got there, pretty boy?"

Steve jumps, shuts the book, shakes his head. "Nothing." 

Billy's in his doorway, smirking, saying, "You can read it if you want, I don't care." 

"No, I'm. It's okay." 

"I  _told_ you you could read it the other day." 

"I told _you_ I _don't_ _read_." 

Billy rolls his eyes. "Okay. Look, I got to drive Max around tomorrow, so I got to get home, now, but. You going to that New Year's thing?" 

Steve thinks, _I was actually supposed to supervise a sleepover, so, no, I didn't make any plans._

Steve thinks, _why would I be going to that party? I have no friends._

Steve thinks, _I'd rather fucking die._

Steve asks, "Are _you_?" 

"Think so." 

Steve shrugs. "Maybe I'll see you there." 

Billy rolls his eyes, again, hums, " _Maybe_." 

 

 

 

 

It's early on Monday morning, and there's someone in Steve's house. 

His first thought is Dustin, his second thought is Max, and then it's.

Billy.

 _Billy, Billy, Billy_. 

Except Billy's a monster, fine, sure, he is, Steve knows that. 

But he doesn't push his way into places where he's not wanted, not anymore.

Steve knows that, too. 

Monsters are smart, and they learn quick, and no matter _what_ he said to Jonathan, no matter _how_ Steve's been thinking about Billy lately, Steve fucking _knows_ that nobody has to _look_ like a monster to actually _be_ one. 

Billy's smart, he learns fast, and he knows Steve will let him in, whenever he wants. 

He _has_ to know that, by now. 

All he has to do is wait outside the front door. 

So, there's someone in Steve's house, but Steve doesn't know who it is.

He doesn't know where his bat is.

He hasn't seen it in _days_. 

He gets out of bed, takes a few deep breaths, carefully opens his bedroom door. 

 

 

 

 

Dustin's in Steve's kitchen, sitting on the counter, swinging his legs back and forth.

By the door, Steve groans, "We _gotta_ stop meeting like this, Henderson."

Dustin doesn't smile, doesn't laugh, doesn't roll his eyes.

He kicks his feet, keeps his head down, slowly peels the frosted top off of a Hostess cupcake as he mutters, "My mom's _dating_ somebody."

"...okay."

"She didn't _tell_ me." 

"Oh." 

"I just _saw_ them, 'cause I had a dream. About D'Art. And I didn't wanna be in my room, so I left, and. They were on the couch." 

 _Gross_. 

Steve's _slept_ on that couch. 

He steps into the kitchen, leans back against the counter, repeats, "Oh." 

Dustin looks like he's thinking about crying, again. 

He pinches a little piece of cake off his cupcake, tosses it down onto the kitchen floor, whispers, "I miss _D'Art_. Is that dumb?" 

Steve thinks, _yes._

Steve thinks, _are you fucking kidding me?_

Steve thinks, _I don't fucking get you, kid. You're supposed to be smart._

Steve asks, "I don't wanna be an asshole, okay, but didn't he eat all your other pets?"

"He was a goddamn _carnivore_ , Steve!" Dustin spits, glaring, "He was _struggling to adapt_ to a whole new _universe_! What do you _expect_?!" 

"Where's your _compassion_ , man? What, you don't like _cats_ , or something?" 

"I _do_ like cats! I _liked_ Mews, but." Dustin cuts a nervous glance at Steve, looks back down, mumbles, "But D'Art was _mine_." 

D'Art was a fucking _stupid_ pet to keep.

He almost killed Dustin and Steve and _everybody the fuck else_ , but. 

 _God_.

Steve _gets_ it.

"Yeah, I know." 

"I just wanted something for _me_ , 'cause. It's. Okay, look, all the Upside Down stuff, it was like. It was like it was all _Will's_ , and _El's_ , and 'cause, you know, El and Will are kinda Mike's, that means it's all _Mike's_ stuff, _too_ ," and  _that's_ the most alarming thing Steve's ever heard anybody say, maybe, and that's even counting all the crazy shit he's heard _Billy_ say, so he should probably open his mouth, now, maybe say something about how people don't fucking _belong_ to other people, _ever_ , but. Dustin doesn't seem like he's done talking. "And I didn't have anything that was mine, and then Max showed up, and Lucas, he liked her _right away_ , and I did, too, I guess, but kinda just 'cause she was new, but. I look _weird_ , and Lucas _doesn't—_ " 

"Hey, you _don't_ look weird!"

"You don't have to lie to me, Steve," Dustin says, around a tired little sigh. "Girls like Lucas, _and_ Mike, _and_ Will, and we like _all_ the same stuff, and we _talk_ the same, and we _act_ the same, and we. We're all the _same_ , but they don't like _me_." 

There's a lot that's wrong with _that_ , too.

Steve _could_ address it, but.

That's not what Dustin's here for.

Steve knocks his shoulder against Dustin's, aims a winning smile his way, shrugs, "I lie to _everybody_ , man. It's second nature for me." 

Dustin laughs, rolls his eyes, shakes his head. "You're _so_ dumb." 

"Yeah." 

"I _really_ miss D'Art."

"Yeah." 

Dustin looks up at the brim of his hat, bites down on his lip, risks one more glance at Steve. "Steve?"

"What's up?"

"Be real with me? You won't hurt my feelings."

"Okay?"

"Okay," and Dustin takes a deep breath. "Are we _really_ friends, or. Or, do you just feel bad for me?" 

Steve has to think _so_ much when he's talking to people. 

He has to lie, and pretend, and watch out for people's feelings. 

But, right now, he says, to Dustin, instantly, honestly, _easily_ , "You are the _best_ person I know. No, I don't feel _bad_ for you, man. You feel bad for _me_?" 

Dustin waits a minute, then decides, "Only when Nancy's around." 

"Shut the _fuck_ up!" 

Dustin grins. "I can pay for breakfast today?"

"You're _eating_ breakfast,  _right now_." 

"You want me to eat _chocolate cake_ for _breakfast_?!"

"Yeah, why the hell _not_?" 

Dustin rolls his eyes. "We need  _real food_ , Steve." 

 

 

 

 

Steve gets Dustin home, gets himself home, thinks about calling to check in with his parents, but.

They're adults.

They _know_ how phones work.

If they _wanted_ to talk to him, they'd fucking _call_ him. 

He goes upstairs, starts Dustin's mixtape again, fast forwards to _Dancing in the Dark_ , starts pulling off his clothes, and.

That's when he sees it. 

Billy's book is still in Steve's room. 

He opens it, reads, again,  _You are not the kind of guy who would be at a place like this at this time of the morning. But here you are_ —

Steve didn't _really_ listen when Billy was talking about it, but.

He's pretty sure it's not a horror novel.

It still feels vaguely unsettling.

 _But here you are._

Springsteen's singing,  _I'm just tired and bored with myself, hey there, baby, I could use just a little help_ , and Steve shuts the book, but.

It's too late.

He can't stop thinking,  _but here you are, but here you are, but here you are_ , and the phone rings, then, and Steve _jumps_ , grabs the receiver that's in the hallway, gasps, " _Jesus_ , uh. Harrington residence?" 

"Hi," rasps Billy, voice gone all slow deep tired, again. "Think I left my book in your room."

Steve thinks, _I know._

Steve thinks, _I have it in my hand, right now._

Steve thinks, _did you leave it here so that you could call me now? I know you did. Tell me you did._

Steve says, "Oh. Um. Yeah, I think. Yeah, it's right here. Wanna come over, again?"

"No," Billy sighs. "I'm." He laughs, quickly, and it's. Yeah, _that's_ unsettling, _too_. "It's sort of a bad time."

" _You_ called _me_."

"Yeah, I know. My dad and Max and Susan, they, uh. They went out, for a minute." 

Steve could say that he doesn't know why that matters.

He _could_ , but that would be bullshit. 

He only met Billy's dad briefly, only heard a little bit about him from Max, but Steve's still pretty sure he knows _exactly_ what kind of a person he is, and.

Billy's dad's not necessarily the kind of person Billy is.

He's _not_. 

But there's some similarities. 

Steve can't deny that, but it feels like he and Billy are always talking about universes, these days, and.

If there's anything Steve knows for sure, about this universe in comparison to the Upside Down, it's that, in this one?

Nobody's _born_ a monster.

But even if Billy _was_ born to be a prejudiced violent psycho, there's none of it in his voice, not _any_ of it, when Billy clears his throat, says, "Alright, pretty boy. Read to me, a little bit." 

Steve laughs, coughs, shakes his head even though Billy can't see him, "Uh, _no_ , man." 

"Do it."

"No!"

"Come on, Harrington!" And he's quiet, Billy's _so_ quiet, until he presses, " _Please_?"

Fuck.

This is _Dancing in the Dark_ all over again.

Steve wants to look around, grab somebody and _force_ them to listen to this, so they can tell him it's really happening.

There's no one here, though.

It's just Steve and _Bright Lights, Big City_ and Billy fucking Hargrove, on the phone, tired and all alone and _asking_ Steve for something, something that's _easy_ , something he can _do_. 

Steve opens the book, again, swallows back all his hesitation, starts reading.

He _knows_ he's talking, but he can't hear his own voice.

He's focusing on the sounds on the phone, on Billy's breath catching, on the sound of him moving around wherever he is.

His room?

Billy might not have a phone in his bedroom.

Steve doesn't know.

He didn't pay attention, when he was at Billy's house.

He can't remember.

He reads, " _You are awed by his strict refusal to acknowledge any goal higher than the pursuit of pleasure. You want to be like that. You also think he is shallow and dangerous_ ," and.

A loud noise comes over the other side of the line, leads into Billy saying, "Thanks, Harrington. I have to go," and. 

Steve feels like somebody's got a hand on his throat, tightening their grip, nice and slow and patient. 

It hurts.

His throat fucking _hurts_. 

Quickly, quietly, _heavily_ , like it _matters_ , like it matters more than anything else _ever_ has, even though it _doesn't_ , it _really_ doesn't, because he already knows that no matter _what_ Billy says, he's _not_ going to do anything about it, but Steve still tries, "Billy, _wait_. Are. Are you okay?" 

Billy doesn't laugh, doesn't make fun of him, doesn't do anything he'd probably usually do. 

So, it's not just Steve, is it?

They're _both_ acting different.

They're both changing.

He's not _alone_ , anymore.

He almost thinks he's not going to get an answer, at all, but.

Just before the line goes dead, Billy breathes, "Yeah, I'm. I. No. I'm. _No_ , I'm not."

**Author's Note:**

> [im on tumblr right here if you want to talk about Anything At All—](http://rvstyryan.tumblr.com/)  
>   
> 
> title from tinie tempah and labrinths _earthquake_.
> 
> the italicised passages near the end of this fic are both from the beginning of jay mcinerneys 1984 novel _bright lights big city_ which is the book that billy reads in pt 3 of this series. its a Real Experience so i deliberately avoided talking about it much in both of these fics because i didnt want to spoil it for anyone who might feel interested enough to read it idk.


End file.
